


Lady Luck Occasionally Smiles On Even the Most Unfortunate Mortal

by Jade_Dragoness



Series: Slow and Steady Series [9]
Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: But Still a Freaking Gentleman, Harry's an Old Fashioned Romantic, M/M, Marcone's Barely Keeping it Together, POV Harry Dresden, Post - Small Favor, no beta we die like Wardens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26265046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade_Dragoness/pseuds/Jade_Dragoness
Summary: Even a wizard with terrible fortune in the dating department will occasionally get lucky… until he cockblocks himself.
Relationships: Harry Dresden/Johnny Marcone
Series: Slow and Steady Series [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/8004
Comments: 20
Kudos: 193





	Lady Luck Occasionally Smiles On Even the Most Unfortunate Mortal

One of the great things about dating when you're all grown-up, as opposed to a fumbling teenager who gets nervous even at the thought of getting to a stage more complicated than kissing, is that curfews are a thing of the past.

Which meant that even after spending entirely too long – for nearly five freaking hours – being chased by a minotaur in dark tunnels, killing it before luckily getting out of Undertown with John Marcone without major injuries, it didn’t mean our date had to be over. 

Actually, it was a minor miracle neither of us had to make a stop to a doctor. Also that we hadn’t been caught and flattened by the minotaur or had even more nasty creatures, which lived below Chicago, came out of their burrows to join in the hunt and eat us. Actually being food would’ve been _lucky_ as there were too many monsters down there who would’ve enjoyed the challenge of inflicting a ‘fate worse than death’ on two mortals.

I shuddered thinking about it.

But even with a pretty awful start to a first date it didn’t necessarily mean we had to throw our hands in the air and give up. Again like I mentioned, we were adults, if we wanted our date to continue even past midnight and go forward like nothing weird had thrown us off track there was no reason why we couldn’t keep on chugging along. 

Choo-choo.

Just because the sunrise threatened to start rising in a handful hours didn’t mean I had to go home alone. And no, I wasn’t just saying that because I’d really enjoyed having John’s hands on me and it had been far too long since I’d last had sex (so freaking long… ugh, let’s not think about it). Okay, I admit it may...may possibly have been a factor. But I’d never let my libido take over when it came to decision making. Seriously, if I listened to that guy I’d have been devoured or subverted by evil wrapped in superficial beauty and emitting deadly lust rays long ago. It didn’t get a vote.

 _I_ wasn’t ready to give up. 

I didn’t have to rush away before my clothes turned to rags (too late), no clock was striking midnight nor was I going to turn into a pumpkin. I may have a faerie godmother but she’s not involved with any of this, okay. Although, Marcone did have a very large bodyguard in his corner, who’d give any shot-gun wielding protective father a run for his money, and who may protest the idea of Marcone not being delivered safely back into his paws. 

I took a moment to boggle at my own sub-conscience for putting the idea of a John Marcone who needed his virtue defended into my head. 

Damn, I had to be exhausted if my own ridiculous thoughts were getting away from me.

“I don’t suppose we can keep that little minotaur thing to ourselves?” I asked plaintively as I walked next to Marcone, staggering a little. 

He shot me an amused look. His hand brushed against mine and my fingers twitched from the urge to take it. Then I realized I had no reason to hold back on that impulse and I grabbed his hand. After a startled second, Marcone entwined his broad fingers with mine and tightened his hold. I took a minute to be mentally snicker at the realization my hands were visibly bigger than his.

“I mean,” I continued mournfully, “Hendricks promised me all manner of gruesome deaths if I so much as accidentally _bruised_ you. If he knows you fought a minotaur in Undertown, without him or Gard, well…”

I would be dead. I would be an ex-Harry. Possibly even ex-Harry shaped as I doubted I'd be in sufficiently recognizable pieces once Hendricks got a hold of me. Marcone’s bodyguard had been very precise about what would happen to me if Marcone was harmed while he wasn't around to stop it. That I'd never see his attack coming had been a particularly emphasized point in the conversation.

And I _believed_ him. 

I mean, considering how many beings wanted me dead and had tried at various points to make it happen I didn't exactly blame him for being so protective. For example, it would be far too easy for Marcone to get caught in the crossfire of another Red Court assassination attempt. Huh, was that why he was carrying around a small armory under his clothes? Well, it didn’t matter. That he felt he had too was bad enough. Too many people in my life got hurt because of me.

The thought made me tighten my hold on Marcone's hand for a moment.

It was actually a shock Marcone hadn’t picked up more than a few scrapes and even more of those bruises which would cost me my life. Admittedly it was less down to luck and more the fact the man had the reflexes of a striking snake. And that, unlike me, he apparently didn’t find it strange to go fully armed when on a romantic evening. 

He’d pulled so many knifes during the fight, actually taking out both of the minotaur’s eyes with a thrown knife in each, that after seeing how many he carried on him I was feeling a little hesitant about feeling him up. I didn’t want to accidentally slice off a finger due to a surprise blade hiding under his shirt.

I’m don’t even want to think about where he’d been hiding the garrote he pulled out of somewhere to loop over the minotaur’s head. That was insane right? Carrying a garrote around was a step too far… hell’s bells, I’ve think I’ve lost all sense of what’s sane when it comes to him.

I mean, it was a good thing he’d had it. It had been instrumental in getting the minotaur down so I could take him out.

But still a _garrote._

“Mr. Hendricks, will understand,” Marcone said, his smug smile deepening and his money-green eyes watching me for a moment before returning to scanning our surroundings. His clothes were dirty with mud, minotaur blood and few other disturbing substances we’d skidded into. It was a good thing he hadn’t been wearing those expensive suits he liked. Considering what Marcone usually wore everyday he'd actually had to dress _down_ for our date (I’m ignoring what it said about me and my wardrobe – hell, the man couldn’t have been surprised by what I’d been wearing; he’s met me) which was fortunate considering what it had gone through. I wasn't any better and I was trying not to think about the crud on me or how badly we probably smelled. 

I couldn’t tell, my nose had shut down out of horrified self-defense about an hour back. 

I was more than a little relieved the streets were fairly empty at this hour, although it was more due to being far away from the club scenes and bars of the city. As it was the few pedestrians who saw us took one look and gave us a wide berth. 

We were both hungry, filthy, covered in various minor injuries (me more than Marcone) and exhausted enough to nearly fall asleep on our feet. In my case I’d also had gone through the magical equivalent of a marathon. But that didn't mean we were calling the night said and done. No way. As Marcone had so grimly reminded me in the hours we'd spent in Undertown, he'd waited _months_ for a sliver of chance I’d say yes. The only thing which would get him to call this first attempt a total failure would be the beginning of an actual apocalypse. 

I may or may not have clamped a hand over his mouth at that point, hissing at him to shut up and to not tempt fate. He knows magic is a real thing which exists, you’d think he’d know better.

The point is that just because it’s now so late it’s threatening to flipped over into being way too early in the day it didn't mean we were going to go our separate ways and try again later.

I repeat: We were adults. We didn't have to part if we didn't want to. 

I certainly didn't want to end the whole thing before it really got a chance to start. Mostly because I had the sinking feeling I wouldn't be able to wind up the courage to try again, well... at least not right away. And it wasn't because Marcone was a guy, although it had taken several weeks to realize it wasn't as much of a hurdle as I thought it would be. 

It – it was _Marcone_ … he wasn’t some random man I didn’t know.

Actually the criminal side of his life which was the biggest problem and not just because of the target it painted on my back as danger and death threats are a standard routine in my life (wait... when did I start thinking of kidnapping and murder attempts as _normal?_ ). It’s where my black and white sense of morality threw a tantrum. Marcone lived in world of grays which made me deeply uneasy. It felt like a world where it would be too easy to wander deeper into grasping shadows if you didn’t watch your step. I already stood too close to the precipice, I didn’t need to get closer. And… it was difficult knowing he didn’t even see laws as having any more impact on him than knowing calculus would have on the mind of a duck. I’d had to accept that fact we didn’t share the same ideas of acceptable ethical behavior. 

That’s where I my morality fit flailed the hardest. But... but I also couldn’t deny deny how much _better_ everything had become with John Marcone at the helm of Chicago crime. I’d been part of Ragged Angel Investigations for a couple years when the Vargassi famiglia had still been in charge before Marcone took over and I’d _seen_ the improvement first hand just in the steep drop of the number of children who went missing.

There were neighborhoods that only a handful of years go had families who would never have dared to let their children play outside but now they let them kick a ball in the yard or go to the nearest park to play hoops.

Stars, it spoke volumes that the cops – _good_ cops whom Marcone didn’t own and couldn’t bribe – didn’t bother actually trying to build cases against him and mostly settled on hassling him with minor stuff like parking tickets and broken tail-light citations. Even Murphy only grumbled about him being Chicago’s king of crime but wasn’t driven to do anything more than mutter darkly into her beer.

_Murphy!_

And well, I had looked into it. When I’d still been convinced this whole being ‘attracted’ scheme to me was some long, elaborate and _avant garde_ (yes, I know what it means) trap. I’d looked into how he ran his business. After spying (carefully and with fairy help because I wasn’t looking to get killed) on his organizations for months I’d been forced to accept one thing, John Marcone always honored his deals as if he was born a faerie rather than a mortal man. He offered people a _choice._ Sure, sometime the choice was to have their secrets outed to the voting public – or their wife – if they if they didn’t work for him. Even the bloodiest part of it, obey his rules about children or be disappeared. It was still a choice.

I don’t know why it had taken me so long to realize this was how he worked. How often had I defied him and refused to work for him and he had done nothing about it? The only time he’d gotten serious in his threat had been when I’d gone after him in _public._ Looking back, and now understanding many predators were always looking for a weakness – any excuse – to attack, I could understand his reasoning. I didn’t like it, but I understood it, hell, sometimes I felt like I was living a mirrored life of always on the alert for danger but with literal monsters testing _my_ fences. 

Also I may have winced at the memories over how utterly careless I used to be… yes used to be. Shut up, I _do_ eventually learn. 

Getting to courage to ask Marcone out had taken several weeks – months – and a lot of conversations with myself, including a few with those nearest and dearest to me. By telling myself this exhausting night wasn't the entire date, I was able to convince myself it wasn't some sort of sign about how cataclysmic it would end. 

Thinking about my dating history, do I need to write up some sort of warning to all potential future lovers? Or make them sign a waiver which said they knew and accepted the risk of dating me? I winced at the thought that maybe it was a little too necessary knowing what my ex-girlfriends lives had become after knowing me.

Oh, hell, it just struck me that if our budding relationship did get anywhere, and my _life_ happened and we broke up… I think most of Chicago would end up as rubble by that point. No, no. I couldn’t think that. If I accepted it as inevitable then I'd probably never leave my apartment again. I shoved those thoughts away.

Anyway, speaking of Hendricks, I was sort of expecting the screech of car tires when the man finally showed up since Marcone had called him from one of the few pay phones which were still around. I thought for sure he’d come out of the car boiling mad and ready to try to kill me. Instead, he pulled up in a quiet understated way which actually worried me _more_. On pure reflex, I may have shaken out my shield bracelet to prepare for a bullet. Yet when Hendricks popped out of the driver’s side of the black town car he looked more resigned than angry.

“Boss,” he said, in a voice layered with multiple shades of meaning. I heard exasperation, annoyance and a hint of I-told-you-so. 

From the looks Marcone and Hendricks shared I was probably missing several more layers to their silent exchange. Which wasn't exactly surprising, Hendricks had been Marcone's right hand man for longer than I'd known either of them. It suddenly struck me how little I knew about their pasts. I mean, I knew Marcone's soul, thoroughly, intimately and ever-lasting. The soulgaze had seen to that. I also knew his most closely held secret but I didn't really know much about the finer details of his life, at least not the sort which didn't get splashed in the headlines by enthusiastic reporters or passed along as rumor in the CPD grapevine.

Gard also came out of the car and her expression was so amused I wouldn't have been surprised if her composure suddenly broke and she started laughing but her cool professional mask slipped back into place instead. She flicked her blue eyes over John before arching her blonde eyebrows at me in a silent question.

I grimaced and admitted, mournfully kissing my life away. “Monster. Undertown.”

“And a child endangered,” Marcone added without hesitation. 

The weight of Gard's and Hendricks’ combined gaze made me twitch at the nuclear level threat it contained.

After a moment, Hendricks’ hard expression faded away and the look he gave me was less Death Glare and more sympathetic understanding. I knew then he got it. I'd _tried_ to send Marcone back to keep him out of a mess which had been my sole responsibility to handle. I'd had a much luck at getting that to happen as I would've getting a fae to tell me an outright lie. It went against the nature of the beast.

“Did you even get to begin your evening?” Gard asked curiously, as soon as all of us piled into the town car with Hendricks at the wheel. Gard keep a very pointed distance from us but otherwise didn't react to our stench.

“No,” I grunted, annoyed all over again at the reminder. I was tempted to think of it as a wasted but I'd – _we'd_ – saved a kid's life and that was worth an infinite number of interrupted dates. Especially since now there was one less Greek monster in Undertown with a taste for kid barbecue and I don't mean baby goat.

“It's merely been postponed,” Marcone explained. 

“We didn't even make it to dinner,” I bemoaned and my stomach took the opportunity to growl loudly. I mentally told it to shut up. Gard reached into a side compartment and passed me two energy bars. It was the kind of specialty bar which came packed with a couple of tons worth of calories and protein. The sort body-builders used because of how much energy they burn through when bulking up. I devoured mine so quickly I barely tasted it and promptly ate the second although I slowed enough to actually chew it. It didn't exactly taste great but it got the job done, quieting the growl. It didn’t silence it, mind you. My stomach apparently didn’t think those bars counted as food. It wanted meat.

As I ate, Marcone pulled out some alcoholic wet wipes from one of the car compartments and began to clean his face and then his hands. He handed me a couple fresh ones as soon as I finished my bar. It didn't get rid of the filth on our clothes or the smell, but it was a great improvement to how we'd looked when we’d come out of Undertown. 

“Next time, at the very least, we should be informed when you head into these dangerous situations,” Gard said, with a particularly hard look at me before shifting her cool gaze to Marcone. I ignored the implication that this was something which happened a lot to me. Okay, it did but she didn’t have to point it out so rudely. It hurt my feelings. I could too have a normal day. Even a normal date. I just had a run of bad luck with first dates. It could happen to anyone. “You do pay a lot for my retainer, I'm honor-bound to earn it.”

Marcone didn't even glance at me as he replied, “I didn't think it was necessary. I had Harry with me.”

I stilled in mid-wipe at a particularly persist patch of stickiness on my cheek and stared at him in disbelief. 

Let me explain. Except for one very special occasion, I have never seen Marcone go anywhere of his own free will without having at least one bodyguard at his side. And over the years as his involvement with the spookier side of life has grown deeper and deeper, I'd never seen him go anywhere without Gard and Hendricks, and stars only knew how many other hidden guards he had following in his wake. The man didn't become the kingpin of a good chunk of the Midwestern states and world's only vanilla mortal Freeholding Lord by trusting easily or being careless with his own safety. Saying he trusted me to watch his back, to keep him safe in an encounter with a monster was as shocking as when he'd first said he'd had the hots for me. 

Maybe even more. Being attracted to someone, even liking who they were, was far easier than trusting them especially with your safety and your life.

Stars and stones, what he was implying by saying he never doubted I’d get him out alive. It shook me.

“Oh, hmm, okay,” I stuttered, stunned. But I had pretty much been demanding his trust when I told him to leave the bodyguards at home, hadn't I? And he'd given in to my ultimatum by showing up without them. In retrospect it was a big gesture on his part especially given our history. I've never been shy about sharing my past opinion of him and his work, loudly and often with more than a few expletives sprinkled in. 

I hadn’t been willing to trust Marcone. That had been the reason I'd asked the guards be kept home in the first place.

“Okay, if Gard and Hendricks want to double-date, why not?” I shrugged easily, as I hadn't just admitted I didn't mind being out-gunned and out-numbered when spending time with him. 

The man had spent the better part of the night fighting at my side for no other reason than to help save a kid, to reunite a family, and to give me back-up. Going into a dark place _filled_ with monsters without his guards and with no one but me to get him out of it if it all went side-ways. I was the _only_ one since no one else even knew where he’d gone. Hell, Marcone had earned me willing to return some of that trust. 

The flash of quick white teeth told me Marcone didn't buy my casual tone for a second.

I stared, caught by the rare sight of a sincere smile actually reaching John’s eyes. 

...oh.

“Good,” Gard said, ruthlessly breaking our moment. 

I went back rubbing my face with the wipe, firmly ignoring the feel of heat crawling into my cheeks and the spike in my heartbeat. I blamed it on the alcohol’s sting as it cleaned several scrapes. I was grateful, not for the first time, that it was practically impossible for a wizard to pick up normal infections. I didn't ask where we were going, content – yeah, it was still kind of weird – to let Marcone make the choice. Still, I was surprised when Hendricks turned off Michigan Avenue and headed down Pearson Street. I was agog to see we were pulling up to the Ritz-Carlton.

I don’t know what I was expecting. My home? His? 

“Neutral ground,” Marcone explained.

Maybe I should have felt grateful and relieved to not have the pressure of ending on one of his properties. I’d only recently grown used to the idea Marcone wasn't setting out to control me, at least not anymore... well, I could see him staking a claim but since I could stake one on him in turn – or refuse and have him back off – I felt less like running away screaming at the thought (okay, maybe not screaming, you don’t want to make loud noises when trying to get away from the predator who’s hunting you down). And I also didn't exactly have the best associations with his mansion, or some of his other buildings so a hotel made sense, but instead I felt disappointed and thrown off balance.

I couldn’t figure out _why_ I was so…so discombobulated and uneasy. It felt like I’d made a wrong choice that was going to come back to haunt me. No, no it was more like for the first time in the entire night _we’d_ – Marcone and I – taken a wrong step.

I hadn’t felt like this in the middle of being chased in Undertown. Why now?

“I call dibs on the shower,” I said, even as I frowned thoughtfully at the entrance to the hotel.

“Would you care to share?” Marcone asked softly, but his money-green eyes were intent.

“Um,” I said, my tongue tangling up in my mouth as I remembered we weren’t exactly alone. Marcone instantly noticed my hesitance and backed off without me saying a word but giving me an understanding nod. Still, Gard was smirking as I stepped out of the car. 

I swear the feel of my cheeks going red-hot was a complete coincidence.

It wasn’t helped by the exasperated look Hendricks shot me as he pulled a couple of hard-shelled travel suitcases from the truck of the car. I blinked at them in interest but didn’t ask, figuring I’d find out soon enough. Also I wanted to be able to claim I had no idea there were weapons in there in case they were packed with guns. I didn’t doubt there were guns. The questions was how many guns?

I was expecting odd looks from the front desk of a place as fancy as the Ritz but apparently Marcone was too well-known and too terrifying to get anything other than wide, fake looking smiles and brisk rapid service. I became invisible, so did Hendricks and Gard. All without me having to use a veil or a smidgen of magic to vanish from sight. 

It was a neat trick.

I was further impressed by the suite Marcone had gotten, less that it was huge and probably cost more for one night than what I earned in a month since this was the Ritz and not some motel on the side of the road, but more for the great view it had of Lake Michigan and Chicago's downtown. The suite was so large the windows showed both. 

I peered out a west-facing window. I thought I could see Thomas' apartment building from here.

I spent several minutes staring at the lit skyline of my city. Chicago was dazzling in her glowing dress of multicolored lights and shadows, downright magical in the way she reached high up into the sky with her scores of skyscrapers, some which were the first to ever be built. Out there in the city, at this very moment, were two brothers reunited and alive because of me and John Marcone. It made the aches, bruises and delayed plans worth it. 

These days I didn’t often get to indulge in feeling a fierce pride of success without any casualties marring my victory. I reveled in it.

Gard and Hendricks settled into a room of their own. Probably going to bed since they'd either been waiting up for Marcone to get back or been asleep when the call for the pickup had come through. Speaking of Marcone he had vanished somewhere.

Partly hoping to find him and partly looking to get clean I began exploring the suite which was too ridiculously large until I stumbled across a bathroom and took over it over. No matter how weird I felt about being in the hotel I was actually looking forward to a real hot shower, and not just to clean off the Undertown grime. It's been too long since I've bathed in water which wasn't cold and threatened to turn me blue if I lingered.

I'd skinned out of my clothes and boots, leaving them in a filthy pile on the polished white marble except for the duster which got folded and tucked neatly out of the way on the excessively wide vanity counter. The duster had survived worse than mud and blood, although it was always such a pain in the ass to get clean again. But, hey, it had saved my life on several occasions so it made the effort worth it.

Water poured out instantly. I let out a low moan at the feel of the strong water pressure pounding on my head and down my back. The shower head was attached from the ceiling. _Amazing._ Whoever thought of that was a freaking genius. I’m about six feet and nine inches tall. Do you have any idea how often a shower head is positioned so it hits me on the chest instead of my head? I always have to duck or hunch down until my back aches to make sure I got rid of all the lather. Being able to stretch to my full height and still be hit with water was glorious.

All that and the shower had _hot_ water.

I briefly considered the benefits of just moving into the Ritz, but regretfully set it aside an impractical. For one my wallet would start screaming after one day.

I spun the water faucet handles up a bit more and stood so my hair could get a full blast. Swirls of dirty brown water washed down the drain before I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensation for several minutes.

Then I grabbed the soap, lathered, scrubbed every hard to reach area, shampooed, rinsed off all the suds, and repeated it twice more when I remembered the stink before I got out.

Look, did I want to stay and indulge? Yes. Yes I did, but my home didn’t have hot water like this. It was too much of a temptation. Anyway, getting into my own shower was going to be painful enough as it was with the memories of this one at the back of my mind. 

Also, the feeling of having stepped wrong had settled deep into my gut, making me feel like I’d swallowed a bowling ball with the pressure and sense of unease growing in me. I wanted to shake it out and get the night feeling right again and I suspected it would only happen when I found Marcone. So I dried off with towels so fluffy I briefly considered the indulging in the cliché of stealing them before regretfully putting them away and grabbing a bathrobe left helpfully on a hook.

Then I went looking for my date.

It didn’t take long. 

This suite had to have more than one bathroom because I found Marcone squeaky clean and wearing a set of jeans and a gray t-shirt which certainly showed off his arms to a degree I couldn’t help but appreciate it, even as I self-consciously glanced at my own skinny arms. Look, I ran for exercise, it doesn’t exactly lend itself to creating a physique with an impressive profile. It did get me the hell away from monsters at top speed which was honesty more important. 

Then I remembered Marcone could _run_ too. Dammit. 

Marcone back was to me as he stood looking through the cart of food which was fancy with a table cloth, wine bottle in ice and two large stainless steel domes hiding away the food. He lifted one of the domes.

“I hope you’re still hungry, Harry.”

“Always. I didn’t think I’d showered long enough for room service to show up,” I said, even as the delicious smell of steak reached me and my stomach threatened to go leaping out of belly if I didn’t move our legs over right now, right now, right _now_. I decided to listened to it before it made good on its threat and walked towards the food.

“I put in an order at the desk,” Marcone answered as he turned to me.

He went still. Like scary still. As if he was deliberately controlling himself before he did something dangerous – that kind of stillness – which brought me to a halt.

“Marcone?” I asked warily. I glanced around the room, wondering if I’d missed some sign of impending danger. Only I didn’t see anything. Just the expensive, if bland, furnishings and the gorgeous view through the windows.

I glanced back at him to see his money-green eyes locked on my legs like they held the secret to life, the universe and everything. I glanced down but I didn’t see 42 written anywhere. Only the same knobby knees I’ve always –

Realization struck me. 

I’ve mentioned my height. Clothing which fit me well are pretty difficult to find and it’s why I often wore jeans which were a bit too short and ended before reaching my ankle and why I often wore cowboy boots to hide the gap. It was also why they often had too many holes at the knees before I found affordable replacements. It also means that a lot of those ‘one-size-fits-most’ garments like a hotel bathrobe don’t actually fit me all that well. Take what I was currently wearing. On a man of Marcone’s little over average height the bathrobe’s hem would probably hit him at the knee or even just above it.

On me? The end of the bathrobe stopped at the high-end of mid-thigh. Nothing was showing but the whole look would quickly get obscene if I even turned too quickly, or tried to sit down.

“Ugh, nothing ever fits –”

I didn’t get a chance to finish as John practically teleported over. He swept a leg behind my knees making them buckle, allowing him to stretch up to kiss me without him need to grab my head and wrench me down to meet his mouth.

The kiss was fiercer than even last time. With a hint of teeth to my lower lip even as I could feel the curl of his smile. 

I had to clutch his shoulders to keep from falling. Because that sneaky sonavubitch had thrown me off balance and not because my legs had gone weak, okay. John had his hands on my legs. His hands were firmly locked at the point on my upper legs right above my knees for a moment. His tongue swept into my mouth, wet and firm as his hands slid up the front of my thighs until his fingers were under the robe and firmly grasping my hips.

Yup, the view had now gone straight to a triple x rating.

“Harry,” John groaned against my mouth. He pulled back enough for me to see his expression. The hunger in those green-so-familiar eyes struck a similar one in me which had nothing to do with the food still steaming away in the cart.

A large part of me wanted to tell him: yes, hell yes, all systems green, go, go, go. There was a perfectly fine couch, right there!

But as I looked down at him, seeing out the corner of my eyes the… the impersonal hotel room, the _wrongness_ of the entire situation began blaring with the sonic power of a tornado siren. I finally figured out what was bothering me so much about being at the Ritz. Why I’d begun mentally shying away even thinking about having sex with him in this place when I hadn’t been so reticent an hour ago.

I couldn’t keep myself from wincing. “Sorry, I can’t. Not here.”

John’s hands tightened on me for a moment. Then he backed off so quickly I wobbled until I get my balance back. He didn’t go too far. John frowned, a thoughtful frown as if he was thinking and not as if he was upset. 

“If this is about Mr. Hendricks and Ms. Gard being nearby, I assure you the suite has excellent sound reduction insulation.” 

Holy shit, I’d actually forgotten about them. 

I blushed. “No, it’s actually not them,” I grimaced and admitted, “not only them.” Because knowing those two were within hearing range made me want to curl up into a ball of mortification at even the thought of them overhearing me having sex with their boss. 

Hell’s bells, I hoped they stayed in their room until I could find proper clothing.

I looked around trying to find out where those suitcases had gone because if they had clothes I was stealing some. Yes, I felt guilty thinking about stealing a towel but none whatsoever at stealing from Marcone. He was already a criminal. I was taking the clothes back into the side of law and order. I was liberating them.

“Harry,” Marcone said again, still standing very close. And it hit me then, that this was the most unrestrained, John Marcone I had ever seen. Not just in clothing, his entire body language was open. Even his dark hair wasn’t confined by whatever product he used to slick it back, and instead fell into fringe along his forehead which struck years off his age (the silver at his temples didn’t make a dent on that impression). He was even barefoot. I was briefly distracted by the realization the man didn’t only get manicures but pedicures as well. He had very tidy feet. 

I looked back up and caught John staring at my chest. The bathrobe had loosened and was baring more of my hairy, skinny chest. His hands, scarred and not scarred, were twitching.

“I can’t have sex with you for the first time in a hotel room,” I blurted out. I grimaced again and tried not to feel like a teenage girl. That was actually a bad comparison, the only teenage girl actively in my life– my apprentice – wouldn’t have thought twice or cared. 

Okay, so it just my hang-ups.

But… it meant something to me. 

The idea of having sex for the first time with someone – anyone – in such an anonymous place actually made me recoil. It made me sad. I may not have had that many lovers in my life, but all of them had been intimate relationships. Women I’d known for years. I’d had the chance to make romantic gestures. To welcome them into my space. Into my bed. Into my life.

Having sex for the first time with someone in your home was _important_. It was a crucial gesture which spoke of intent, of what the relationship meant. That may not be true of everyone but it mattered to me. It was vital first step. Having sex with John for the first time in a hotel room which had nothing of me in it, nothing of home, and therefore nothing personal for it to be a... a declaration. It was _wrong_.

As a wizard I was too well aware of the magical importance of symbols and metaphors. 

Of the import inherent in firsts of _anything_. 

I _believed_ our first time shouldn’t be here and that if it was it would be a crucial misstep. If I ignored my misgivings, I honestly believed it would poison the ground on which the relationship between us could have grown. 

I wouldn’t do that. No matter how much my sex drive and my id was doubtlessly screaming at me right now. I just couldn’t.

John blinked at me then his eyes narrowed as he looked around the room, taking it in. I could see him putting it together. I was reminded all over again that it wasn’t just his swiftness with a knife which made him so freaking dangerous and one of the scariest person I’ve ever met but rather it was his brilliant mind. It was his intelligence which made him Chicago's top predator and _kept_ him in charge.

“It’s important to you, isn’t it? That we be together in your home, in your bed,” John said thoughtfully. 

I nodded, thankful beyond words that he understood.

John shook his head and pressed his broad right hand under my chin, so that his scarred thumb swept at my mouth. “I made a mistake. I apologize. I should have realized. You’re an old fashioned romantic.”

I didn’t protest what was so completely and utterly true.

“Nothing to apologize for, I didn’t realize it would bother me so much,” I said, sighing in both relief and regret. 

This time I saw the kiss coming and bent down my head to meet him as he rose on his bare toes. I know everyone I’d ever kissed has had to do that at one point or another. And even with it being John Marcone I couldn’t help but find it adorable. 

Okay, never ever letting him find out I thought that has just become a major life goal. 

This kiss was softer than the last, down right gentle as he pressed his lips to mine before licking into my mouth. This time his tongue was a tease, practically inviting me to chase him back into his mouth. 

I found myself pressing close to him, my own hands conducting their own exploration and trying to undo the ties of his clothes before my brain caught on and I stopped them. My libido whined in protested (how _dare_ I keep John from touching us again or from us touching him), as I forced myself to back off. I ignored my libido because he was stupid.

John and I were both breathing harder. 

“So, I can make an opening for the entire night in four days time if you’re available?” John asked lightly with a voice which had fallen into a husky baritone which rasped up my spine. His expression was intent and locked on me. 

Damn. I really needed to find clothes to wear. 

Four days. I wanted to protest that four days was way too long to wait but considering he was being a downright gentleman about my sudden cold feet I kept the whine to myself.

“I’m pretty sure I can make an opening in my busy schedule too,” I answered.

“This time I’ll bring you flowers,” John continued 

He took a step away from me forcing me to let go where I was still grasping at him.

“I’m not that old-fashioned,” I protested, as I fixed the fit of the robe and looked around to where those suitcases had ended up. Even just a pair of sweatpants would work. Shorts. Something.

“A dozen red roses,” John clarified. He stared at me for a moment, and added wistfully, “Although, if you could deign to put on some clothes, it would make it easier to keep my hands to myself. There is a suitcase is in the master bedroom, upstairs.

This place had an upstairs? 

I retreated, and went to go find some promised clothing. I came back wearing a black t-shirt and what I suspected were meant to be workout pants. They were also black, stretchy and ended at my knee. So an improvement in coverage already.

I came down to find John had spread out the food onto the dinner table.

He said, looking at me. “I take it you have no objections to me feeding you?”

“Feed me, Seymour. Feed me all night long,” I sang, heading towards the table. 

John’s eyes glinted at me. “Well, I do like to make sure you’re big and strong.”

I sputtered, blushed and let him feed me. 

Steak. It was steak. Get your mind out of the gutter.

*-*-*-*

I don’t know if it was the wine, combined with a food coma, or simply a crash of exhaustion considering our event filled evening but instead of taking advantage of the perfectly fine empty beds in the suite, John and I fell asleep next to each other on the couch overlooking the view of Chicago.

So the when sun began rudely rising on the new morning, I grumbled, squinted and plotted on how I would go about murdering a celestial body. I opened my eyes to see John Marcone asleep on my chest which he had turned into a rather bony mattress barely softened by the pillow he kept from having my ribs leave an imprint on his face.

I stared. 

_This_ was the most unguarded I'd ever seen the other man. He looked peaceful. Relaxed. Content. 

I shifted in place and Marcone's single visible eye opened briefly, a flash of dark, sleepy green. He looked back at me for a moment before he closed it again as if my expression had satisfied him with the knowledge I wasn't going anywhere. His face softened, and what I could see of his mouth he was smiling with warmth and… and happiness. 

I blinked. 

Now, I've seen John Marcone in various emotional states, well, as emotional as Marcone ever got. Yet I’ve never seen him feeling anything approaching happiness. The closest I’d seen was satisfaction at a job well done. Considering the life he lives I wasn't at all surprised but knowing I had a hand in evoking such an emotion in him, however briefly it lasted was gratifying.

It silenced the little voice at the back of my head which – from the moment in the restaurant – kept wondering: why _me._

I mean, what did I have to offer? Take my magic out of the equation and I had a business which barely paid the bills, a small woolly mammoth (my dog) and a miniature puma (my cat), a tiny apartment, a beat-up car which was always breaking down, a hair-trigger temper, and a huge authority problem. Hell, I had so many enemies at my heels I may actually be making Marcone’s life _more_ dangerous than normal. Even him lusting over my body wouldn’t have convinced me. Marcone never struck me as the kind of man to be led around by his dick.

But… if I was making him feel something close to happy?

Oh, I understood _that._ I understood all too well the drive to keep someone like that close. And in having found them, not wanting to let them slip out of your life.

I tightened my arms around him, pressing him closer to me as I tucked my chin over his head. 

I felt him breathe, slow and deep, as I watched the sun ascending in golden glory over Chicago.

End

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve had what I thought was most of this fic languishing in my hard-drive for years as it got stubborn and refused to be finished. Recently, I realized what had felt so ‘wrong’ about it. Pretty much the same feeling that Harry had and I ended up scrapping about 85% of what had been written and rewrote the entire fic in less than two weeks and ending up at double the word count of the original and way happier than I’d been with it before.
> 
> I think the only thing which made it intact without modifications was the _title._


End file.
